Evil's Point ReUploaded!
by Aniroaldawen
Summary: This is SIHansonWeasleyGamgee. Due to password loss, I've reuploaded my story, Evil's Point. NEW CHAPTER ADDED!
1. Default Chapter

Evil's Point  
  
by Aniroaldawen, The Author Formerly Known As SIHansonWeasleyGamgee  
  
Due to E-mail server change and password loss, this story is being re- uploaded to my new account.  
  
AN: This story is not meant to be slash or romance, and should not be taken as such--it simply highlights the friendship between Legolas and Gimli. Hope you enjoy, and please review!  
  
"Earendil was a mariner/That tarried in Arvernien/He built a boat of timber felled/In Nimbrethil to journey in..."  
  
Prince Legolas of Mirkwood's voice rang out loud and clear in the song Bilbo Baggins and King Aragorn of Gondor had penned before the War of the Ring. He and his dear friend Gimli had just come from visiting the Glittering Caves, and now it was time for Legolas to return the favor and introduce Gimli to his home in Mirkwood.  
  
"I swear, Legolas, if you do not stop singing your abonimable songs, my axe shall hew an elf-neck before the day is through..." grumbled Gimli the dwarf. Gimli was not fond of forests--only his deep love for Legolas had gotten him to enter this one. He was beginning to regret his choice.  
  
Legolas laughed. "Why should I not sing, friend? I'm home at last!"  
  
Gimil sighed. "If you must...I'll just have to stop up my ears all day."  
  
Grinning, Legolas burst into another song. Gimli groaned, and began to hum loudly to block out his companion's song.  
  
All of a sudden, Legolas froze. His ears had picked up a strange sound. Gimli looked over at Legolas. "What--"  
  
"Sssssh!" Legolas listened hard. Gimli gazed around into the dark trees, black under the falling evening, but could see nothing. "What did you hear?" Gimli breathed to Legolas.  
  
"Footsteps," Legolas mumbled back. "I'm sure of it. Someone is following us."  
  
"Could it be one of your people, spying on their prince?"  
  
"Of course not," Legolas added, barely restraining from adding, "Stupid dwarf." He continued, "Elven footsteps are hard for even elves to hear, and I heard these steps plainly."  
  
"What are we to do?" asked Gimli, fingering his axe.  
  
"We'll keep going," Legolas mumbled. He silently drew his bow from behind his back and notched an arrow to the string. "Get your axe out. If it is hostile, it might come upon us suddenly."  
  
Gimli complied, and the two companions continued on their path, tense, alert and listening intently for sounds of pursuit. The footfalls continued to be just behind them.  
  
Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, Legolas and Gimli came across something that stopped them in their tracks. A river had appeared out of nowhere, roaring and tumbling right across their path. The air above the river shimmered as if with great heat, but it was obviously magic.  
  
"What is this?" Gimli exclaimed, bending over to peer at the river. "I did not know magic rivers flowed in this part of your forest, Legolas."  
  
"They don't," mumbled Legolas, a little rattled. "I have been this way many times, and there was never a river here before."  
  
"It is some sorcery!" a grim-faced Gimli said. "Something IS following us, and I'll bet my axe-haft it doesn't like us."  
  
Legolas had turned from the river and was scanning the trees. Suddenly he lunged at Gimli, knocking him to the ground. "Wha-" exclaimed the alarmed dwarf. Legolas silenced his friend with a look, got off the dwarf, leaned over, and picked up a dart that was in exactly the spot where Gimli had been standing. The dart pierced a piece of paper. Legolas drew the paper off the dart, pocketed the dart, and unfolded the paper. Squatting so Gimli could see the letter, Legolas began to read.  
  
"SAURON MAY BE VANQUISHED, BUT THE LIGHT HAS NOT YET WON.  
  
SMOKE RISES FROM THE MOUNTAIN AND THE GATHERING'S BEGUN.  
  
THE BLOOD OF THOSE WHO KEPT THE RING SHALL FLOW RED UPON THIS DAY  
  
AND DEATH WILL SOON KNOCK AT YOUR DOOR--THE FELLOWSHIP WILL PAY."  
  
Legolas turned to Gimli. "There is a dread creeping into my heart," he murmured. "I fear something will happen--and nothing good."  
  
"The hobbits--Aragorn--Gandalf! They are in danger!" Gimli exclaimed. He looked warily around. "Come, friend, we must get out of here and send word to our friends, before--"  
  
He was silenced by a wooshing sound, and a thwack like something hitting flesh. Legolas cried out, and Gimli turned, to see his friend's eyes roll back into his head, a black feathered arrow portruding from his side. Legolas began to fall backwards into the creek. Gimli gave a cry and lunged forward to catch him, but too late--the elf was swallowed up by the tumbling black waters.  
  
AN: My first cliffie! I'm so proud :D Thanks for reading, and review please 


	2. Evil's Point 2

Evil's Point  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Gimli groaned in dismay as Legolas' fair locks disappeared in the murky water. His heart raced and his mind whirled as he fought not to panic. He searched the waters desperately for some sign of his friend. Finally he saw a hand appear above the water, grasping faintly. Without hesitation Gimli tore off his bag and cloak and dived into the water to reach his friend.  
  
This was a mistake, as the river's magic began working on Gimli immediately. He felt a great weariness come over him, and he gasped for breath though his head was above the water. It was like someone was fighting to pull him down into the river's evil depths. With great strength of will, the dwarf forced his suddenly leaden limbs to obey him, and he swam toward the place where his friend had disappeared.  
  
Taking a great breath, Gimli dived under the water. He strained to see anything, for the black waters obscured even Gimli's own arms from his sight. Just as he was about to go back up for air, he felt himself brush against something soft--Legolas' cloak. He gripped it firmly and kicked frantically for the surface. It was hard work--Legolas' weight combined with the pull of the water combined to slow him down immensely. Just in time, he reached the surface. Gimli, coughing and wheezing, heaved on Legolas' cloak, and his friend's head broke the waters next to him.  
  
Panting from the effort, Gimli fought his way to the nearest bank and climbed out onto it, dragging Legolas with him. Dread filled the dwarf as he took in his friend's still form and pale features. Gimli laid his head on Legolas' chest and was overjoyed to hear the elf's heart beating, and at the same time alarmed to hear no breathing. Gimli quickly sat up, then leaned over, placed his mouth over Legolas' mouth and nose, and blew. "Now wake up, you stupid elf!" growled Gimli. When Legolas showed no response, Gimli did it again. After about three more turns of this, Legoals' eyes flew open.  
  
Gimli scrambled out of the way as Legolas sat up and violently expelled a great deal of water and the food he had last eaten. Tears streamed down Legolas' panicked face as he vomited. In an instant Gimli was beside his friend, holding the elf's hair out of the way while rubbing Legolas' back soothingly. "It's all right, my friend," Gimli murmured. "You are safe now."  
  
After Legolas was through being sick, he turned to his friend, looking frightened out of his mind. "G-Gimli..." he cried, and suddenly threw himself upon Gimli's neck, sobbing. "I...I thought I was dying," he moaned.  
  
"It'll take a lot more than a little arrow and some water to kill you," Gimli murmured in Legolas' ear as he wrapped his arms around his friend in an attempt to comfort him. Gimli couldn't remember ever seeing Legolas so frightened and distraught, not even in Moria.  
  
"But there was more," Legolas replied in a weak voice, pulling away so he could look his friend in the eyes. "I saw the eye...the Eye of Sauron...it turned into a black figure...and Middle-Earth...was covered by its shadow..." As Legolas talked, sweat broke out upon his face, and his breathing became labored. His voice sank to a murmur, and when he next spoke it was in a voice laced with pain. "The darkness filled my soul...it...devoured me..."  
  
Gimli frowned. "I don't like this at all," he grumbled. "Look at you! You're trembling--I have never seen you shiver before, not even on Caradhras..."  
  
"I hurt," Legolas forced out through his tremors. "Gimli...everything hurts..." As he talked, his hand gestured to his side, where the arrow, shaft broken, still stuck just under his ribs. Gimli frowned. "We had better tend to that wound..." Examining the wound, he determined that he could safely remove the arrow. "I'm sorry, friend, but this is going to cause you more pain..." Gimli placed his fingers around the arrowhead, grasped the shaft of the arrow, closed his eyes, and pulled. The arrow came out in his hand, and Legolas cried out. His hands flew to cover his wound.  
  
"Legolas, remove your hands," Gimil ordered. "I have to see how bad it is."  
  
Trembling and sweating, Legolas complied. The flow of blood from the wound was already stemming, thanks to Legolas' elvish healing powers. It didn't appear to be too deep--just a flesh wound. Gimli relayed this to his friend as he tore a strip from his cloak and applied pressure to the wound. As he did this, he anxiously watched Legolas' face. He noticed Legolas seemed to be acquiring a greenish tint.  
  
"I fear that the river's water was poisoned," Gimli said. "You are turning green."  
  
Legolas looked up at his friend. "G-Gimli...I..." Legolas suddenly gave a moan, and his head fell to the ground, eyes closed. He had passed out.  
  
As Gimli checked to ensure his friend still lived, he noticed a heat rising from Legolas' body. It seemed fever was setting in. "Just what I needed," Gimli grumbled. "A sick elf to take care of." Worse, he noted as he looked up, dark was coming on, and there was something hostile out there. He and Legolas had to warn the rest of the former Fellowship somehow. But would they make it in time? 


	3. Evil's Point 3

Chapter 3  
  
Puffing and grunting, Gimli masterfully swung his axe, lopping off some branches of a fallen tree. He paused, wiping rainwater out of his eyes, and glanced to his right, where Legolas lay under a tree. Two nights had passed since the elf had fallen into the river, and since then his fever had risen steadily. Since yesterday Legolas had not fully awakened. Often he would talk or even sit up, but because of what he was saying Gimli knew he was hallucinating.  
  
Having by now cut a sizable number of dead leaf-covered branches, Gimli dragged them over to Legolas. He then propped the branches against the tree, forming a makeshift shelter to help keep the rain out. He placed some stones on the branches where they touched the ground, then crawled into the shelter next to Legolas.  
  
Gimli cast a sorrowful, worry-filled eye upon his friend. He reached out and placed a hand on Legolas' brow, but quickly withdrew it--the elf was still burning to the touch. He grabbed the cloth strip he had placed on Legolas' forehead and, going out of their "shelter", rewet it with water from his canteen. He ducked back under the branches, smoothed Legolas' hair out of the way, replaced the strip, and sat down to wait out the night with his friend.  
  
Far away, a dark hand caressed the side of a cement bowl, in the waters of which two figures resting side by side could be seen. The owner of the dark hand laughed evilly as he beheld Legolas sit up and cry out, and Gimli hurry to calm the elf and lay him back down.  
  
"Yes, comfort your friend, foul dwarf," the evil one rasped in a hideously chilling, deep voice. "I fear you do not have much time left to enjoy one another's company. Indeed, the hour of your parting is upon you! And not only you and your little elf shall be parted..."  
  
A swirl of hot, reeking breath stirred the water in the bowl. A new image came up--an image of a round door, and little people...two little people, with curly hair and furry feet, bedecked in shining coats of mail, laughing...  
  
"Ah, my little hobbit friends," the evil one sighed. "Such laughter! Is it right, that such merry folk should have to suffer such pain as what is about to be inflicted upon you?" The voice began to chuckle. "Yes...yes! For you little folk and your friends have inflicted pain of your own, yes indeed...you have angered many. You thought your foe was vanquished, and indeed he was...but there are other foes stronger than Sauron for you to worry about now!"  
  
The dark hand was lifted from the rim of the bowl, and a flash of green light was reflected in the water's surface. With a shuddering howl, the sound of padding paws receded into the night.  
  
Merry Brandybuck, clutching his prize to his chest, ran as fast as he could down the steps and out into Brandy Hall's main yard. Laughter behind him showed he was still pursued. Thinking quickly, Merry turned from his path and stuck his foot out. With a yell of suprise his younger cousin, Pippin Took, fell over his outstretched leg and collapsed to the ground.  
  
It was Merry's turn to laugh as Pippin, wearing a bemused expression, sat up and pulled a clump of grass out of his hair. "That was a dirty move, Meriadoc!" the hobbit exclaimed.  
  
"So was trying to steal my mushrooms. I picked these myself. They're mine. My own. My precioussssessssss!"  
  
Pippin shuddered. "Oh, please don't do that," he begged. "You remind me too much of him...Gollum..."  
  
Merry smiled, and offered a hand to Pippin. "Remind you of him? When did you ever even see the wretched creature?"  
  
"I thought I saw him once, after--after Moria," replied Pippin, taking his cousin's hand and rising to his feet. "It was during watch, one night...I saw a shadow, flitting about in a bush, and two pale eyes..."  
  
"Sounds like Gollum, right enough," Merry nods. "Not that I ever saw the beast. But I've heard our cousin's--and Sam's--accounts of him so often I almost feel that I have..."  
  
Suddenly the hobbits' chatter was silenced as a horn blast rang in the air.  
  
"AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!"  
  
Merry's and Pippin's mouths dropped open. "The Horn-call of Buckland!" cried Merry. "Something's wrong!" With grim glances at one another, two blades were swept out of their scabbards, and the two hobbits set out in the direction of the horncall, all thoughts of mushrooms forgotten for now.  
  
A little ways down the road, the two hobbits came upon another hobbit. Wild fear was in his eyes. "Raspin!" cried Merry. "What is the matter? Why are they blowing the Horn-call?"  
  
"Wolf!" gasped Raspin. "This side of...the Brandywine...coming this way...run!" The panicked hobbit flew back toward the Brandybuck smial.  
  
"Do you suppose it's a Warg?" Pippin asked.  
  
"What other wolf-creature would dare to cross the Brandywine?" Merry replied.  
  
As the two hobbits turned the corner, a loud and horrible howl met their ears. The hobbits shuddered at the sound and clamped their hands over their ears, letting their swords fall. At that moment, a dark shape leapt around a tree.  
  
It was the wolf, all right. The beast was enormous, as big as a hobbit's pony, gray-coated and red-eyed. Its pointed, silver fangs gleamed in the sunlight. Blood dripped from its narrow snout. A strange intelligence glittered in its eyes, and it regarded its new prey with cool delight. Grinning, the horrendous beast let out another chilling howl.  
  
Pippin and Merry shrank together, transfixed under the wolf's gaze. It seemed to have a power to freeze its enemies in their tracks. As the wolf-- was it really a wolf? It seemed so intelligent!--stalked nearer, Pippin instinctively clutched at Merry's arm. Merry, shaking off his paralysis, spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Pip. Run."  
  
"No!" Pippin breathed back. "I won't leave you to fight this alone!"  
  
"Listen to me!" Merry commanded. "Go and get help! I can't hold this monster off for long. Hurry!"  
  
"But--"  
  
"GO!" Merry gave his terrified friend a shove. Just as Pippin began to flee, the wolf turned its paralyzing gaze upon him.  
  
And pounced. 


	4. Evil's Point 4

Chapter 4  
  
By the next morning, the storm that had caused Gimli and Legolas to hide had passed. Gimli pushed the dead branches aside, and turned to Legolas. The elf's eyes were still--unnaturally--closed. Gimli guessed that the power of the river had sent him into a coma-like state. Feeling Legolas' brow, Gimli was pleased to find that the elf seemed a bit cooler, though still quite warm. Gimli sighed, then dug in his pack for some food.  
  
After eating and washing his face in a deep clean puddle, the dwarf decided he should find the path, for when Legolas had fallen into the river, they had been swept quite a long way from their path. Half carrying, half dragging his friend, Gimli began the long march towards where he thought the path lay.  
  
Suddenly, Gimli thought he heard a voice calling. He froze, putting Legolas down, and listened hard.  
  
"Legolas? Gimli? Caun nin, mas edh*?"  
  
Leaving Legolas lying on the ground, Gimli cried out. "Here! We are here!"  
  
There was a pause, and then the elf answered. "Gimli?"  
  
"It is I!"  
  
"Where is Legolas?"  
  
"He's here, but he is ill! Hurry!"  
  
"Ill? A Elbereth!" exclaimed the elf. Quite suddenly the elf appeared out of the trees. Seeing Gimli, he hurried over to him.  
  
Recognizing the elf, Gimli smiled in relief. "Greetings, Harma!"  
  
Harma, a guard of the Mirkwood Elves' realm, was one of the few elves who had accepted Gimli from the first time he set foot in Mirkwood, and was one of Legolas' good friends.  
  
"Mae govannen**, Gimli! We have been looking for you since yesterday. When you did not return from your day-hike, King Thranduil became worried."  
  
"It is good that you found us. Legolas here was struck by an arrow and fell into a magic river. He has been like this for two days now."  
  
A worried expression on his face, Harma bent over Legolas. "Ai! His eyes-- they are closed! It must be serious--elven eyes do not close in sleep. They shut only when there is something greatly wrong with the elf."  
  
"I know. I am quite worried. We must hasten back to Thranduil's hall! I hope you know the way. Legolas and I lost our path when he was knocked into the river."  
  
"Yes, I know it." Stooping, Harma lifted his prince easily. "Come, follow me, Master Dwarf."  
  
Gimli picked up his pack and followed Harma through the woods. Legolas didn't move or make any sign. The minutes passed swiftly, Harma and Gimli making little conversation, eager to get back to the halls of the wood-elf king.  
  
All of a sudden, Harma froze. "Gimli--wait!"  
  
Gimli stopped as well. "What is it?"  
  
Looking about, Harma lowered Legolas to the ground. Gimli stepped in front of Legolas, hand on his axe-haft, while Harma cautiously strode forward. Stopping by the low-hanging branch of a tree, he reached out and swiped some white substance off the branch. He examined the stuff on his fingertips closely.  
  
"Is that--" Gimli muttered.  
  
"Spider webs," Harma confirmed. "Less than an hour old."  
  
"Great," groaned Gimli. "Just what we need, to walk right into the nest of some foul child of Shelob."  
  
Harma shook his head. "Nay, Gimli, these are not nesting webs. They're hunting webs."  
  
"Oh, well then, that is MUCH better!!!" Gimli grumbled. "The vile beast will have us for dinner instead!"  
  
"Ssssssh!" Harma admonished. "Come, we must get out of here quickly, before the spider returns!"  
  
As Harma and Gimli turned, Legolas cried out. To their horror, Gimli and Harma saw that Legolas was now awake, and attempting to crawl away from a spider as big as a pony, which was poised over him, preparing to sting.  
  
"Legolas!!" Gimli cried. Legolas barely managed to roll out of the way as the spider's sting flashed down. Groggily, Legolas whipped out his elven- knife and stabbed upwards, managing to make a shallow cut on the spider's foreleg. With an enraged squeal of pain, the spider darted backwards, then, swiping Legolas' hand with its claw, made him drop his knife. Swiftly, the spider came down upon Legolas. The elf screamed in agony as the beast's sting pierced his right leg.  
  
Startled out of his horrified paralysis by Legolas' scream, Gimli whipped out his axe. "Khazad-ai-menu!" he roared as he ran at the spider. Swinging his axe high, Gimli cut a deep gash across the spider's face. At the same time, several arrows from Harma's bow struck the spider in the chest and eyes. The spider screamed in pain and reared up on its back legs, lashing out with its claws. Gimli hacked off two of them at the same time as more arrows from Harma pierced the beast in the heart. With a last defeated cry, the spider crashed to the ground and rolled down the slope into the trees behind, dead.  
  
Gimli, dropping his axe for the time being, knelt at his friend's side. "Legolas? Legolas!"  
  
Opening his eyes, Legolas smiled weakly. His breathing was shallow, and speaking seemed to pain him. "Hello...Master Dwarf," he breathed.  
  
Harma silently dropped down on Legolas' other side. "Mae govannen, my prince," he said softly.  
  
Legolas slowly turned his head. "H...Harma?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, Prince Legolas," Harma said. Harma tore a strip of material from his tunic and pressed it against the wound from the spider. Legolas hissed in pain.  
  
"We must get you to King Thranduil's hall, my prince. Do you think you can walk?"  
  
Closing his eyes in pain, Legolas shook his head.  
  
"All right. This might hurt," Harma warned as he carefully picked Legolas up. Legolas winced. Standing up, Harma turned. "We should be able to reach the King's halls within the day if we hurry," he told Legolas and Gimli.  
  
"Then what are we waiting for?" said Gimli. He picked up his axe and Legolas' knife. "I will keep this safe for now, my friend," Gimli informed Legolas.  
  
"Thank you...Gimli," murmured Legolas, who was already falling back into slumber. Harma led the way, and without incident, the three reached the halls of King Thranduil.  
  
"My prince, where are you?"  
  
** "Well met!"  
  
Those of you worrying about Pippin--you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out what happened to him! I'll try to have it finished and up ASAP. Again, thanks for reading and/or reviewing! 


	5. Evil's Point 5

Evil's Point  
  
by Aniroaldawen  
  
AN: Mae govannen, all! I know it's been forever and a day since I updated, and I apologize. Here, finally, is chapter 5 of Evil's Point. Thanks again to my reviewers! Enjoy this chapter!  
  
Chapter 5  
  
As the great wolf-creature leapt for Pippin's throat, he threw himself backwards and flung up his hands. The beast's jaws closed around Pippin's left wrist, and the hobbit screamed in pain as the bones were crushed. With a cry of fury, Merry, sword in hand once again, leapt forward and sliced the beast across the muzzle. Snarling, the creature let go of Pippin and turned its furious glare on Merry.  
  
Merry, however, was faster than the wolf. He bent down and made a quick upward thrust at the beast's chest. The wolf howled in agony as the hobbit's blade sank in deep. Another stab by Merry and the wolf was silenced--Merry had cut his throat. In the throes of death, the beast gave the hobbits a last, murderous glare. It collapsed to the ground and was still.  
  
"Pippin!" Merry dropped to the ground beside his friend, who was panting in pain and clutching his arm just under his wrist. Merry found himself fighting not to throw up as he looked at Pippin's bloodied and broken wrist. Pippin, however, was staring at the dead beast.  
  
"L-look!"  
  
As Merry and Pippin watched, astounded, a bright green light shone from the dead wolf's eyes. It grew brighter and brighter until the hobbits had to shield their eyes. When they looked back, the beast was gone.  
  
"I knew that wasn't an ordinary wolf!" Merry exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, I don't like this at all," Pippin mumbled. "It's too much like...too much like some minion of Sauron's..."  
  
"Don't be silly, Pippin," Merry said. "He's gone, and all his evil works with him. But you're right...that's just too unnatural..."  
  
Pippin nodded and attempted to get up, but fell back with a yelp. Frowning, he glared at his wrist. "Darn that beast!"  
  
"Come on, Pip, we've got to get your wrist taken care of!" Merry said as he took Pippin's good arm and raised him to his feet. Pippin moaned in pain and swayed unsteadily.  
  
"We'd better head back to the Brandybuck smials," Merry decided. "It's nearest." Slowly, so as not to cause Pippin any more pain, Merry headed back with Pippin to the smials.  
  
Later that evening, a pony galloped down the lane to Bag End, breath steaming in the chilly evening air.  
  
"Frodo! Sam!" Merry dismounted, leaving the pony at the gate, and flew up the Bag End garden path. He pulled frantically on the bell, then rapped on the door. "Sam! Frodo!"  
  
A moment later, Frodo opened the door. "What--Merry? What's wrong?"  
  
"Pippin's hurt!"  
  
Frodo frowned. "Is he all right? What happened?"  
  
"A wolf! This afternoon--I don't know what to do--he's passed out--we can't wake him!" Merry was so frantic he was almost in tears.  
  
As Merry talked, Frodo darted to the closet and pulled out his Lothlorien cloak. Securing it around his shoulders, he ran down the hall to Sam and Rosie's room. "Sam! SAM!"  
  
The door to the Gamgee's room opened, and Rosie appeared, looking annoyed. "Why are you making such a racket, Frodo? Sam's just about to get the baby to sleep!" she hissed in a whisper.  
  
"I'm sorry to disturb her, Rosie, but something's happened to Pippin--he's hurt badly!"  
  
Rosie's expression quickly changed to one of shock and dismay. "Oh my goodness! Just one second, I'll get him!" Rosie turned and darted into the adjoining room she and Sam were using as a nursery. A few moments later, Sam appeared with baby Elanor in his arms, looking worried.  
  
"What's all this about Pippin, Frodo?" he asked. Before Frodo could answer, Merry interjected.  
  
"Sam! Pippin's been bitten by some kind of wolf-creature! He's very ill--I don't know what to do!"  
  
Sam gasped. "Oh no!" Turning, he passed Elanor to his wife, and with a quiet word and a kiss for both Elanor and Rosie, Sam was running to the hall closet. Pulling out his own elven-cloak, he threw it on and fastened it as the three hobbits ran out the door and down the path. It was quickly decided that Sam and Frodo would run and get their ponies from the town stables where they resided and meet back at the gate.  
  
After a couple of minutes, Frodo and Sam, cloaks streaming behind them, rode back to Merry on their ponies, Strider and Bill. Merry then led the way, and within minutes they were crossing the Brandywine Bridge and flying up the path to the Brandybuck smial.  
  
The hobbits left their ponies with some Brandybuck servants and hurried down the hall to the room where Pippin lay. As they came in sight of the door, they saw Missy Brandybuck, Merry's cousin, who had tears streaming down her face. Merry, Sam and Frodo felt chills run up their spines as they looked at Missy's grief-stricken face.  
  
"Oh no. Oh no! What happened?" Merry demanded, white-faced.  
  
Missy bowed her head.  
  
"No...No! He can't be..."  
  
"No, Merry, he's n-not dead...." sobbed Missy. "He's just awoken..."  
  
Merry's mouth dropped open. "Well, why didn't you say so?!?" he demanded, pushing past Missy into the room. Frodo and Sam followed--and gasped at what they saw.  
  
Dr. Flugedern and old Darcy Brandybuck were kneeling on either side of Pippin's bed, struggling to keep Pippin held down. The poor hobbit was thrashing about in the blankets. A smashed glass of water lay on the bedside table, and his right hand was cut and bloody. His eyes were unfocused and his mouth was hanging open, and his breath came in shallow gasps.  
  
"Pippin!" Merry ran to his friend's side. As he did so, Pippin, with a huge burst of strength, tore out of Dr. Flugedern's and Darcy's grip, focused on Merry, lunged forward, and grabbed him by the collar.  
  
"Merry...he's back...he's back..."  
  
"Wha--Pippin! Calm down! It's all right, we're safe here..."  
  
"No!" Pippin gasped. "Not safe...not here...not...anywhere..."  
  
"Pip, what are you talking about?"  
  
"Him...S-Sauron..."  
  
At that name, Frodo jumped a foot off the ground, Sam nearly fell over, and Merry stared at Pippin, mouth agape.  
  
"But--he's gone --you must be hallucinating, Pip, he can't be back!"  
  
"No...no...he's--"  
  
But what he was, Merry was going to have to wait to find out. Pippin's eyes rolled back into his head, his hand fell away from Merry's collar, and he collapsed backwards into the pillows.  
  
Merry, stark white, looked around at Frodo and Sam, who also looked as if they'd just fallen face-first into bowls of flour.  
  
"He can't be back," he insisted. "It's impossible!"  
  
"That's right, Mr. Merry," Sam, though still looking like the end of the world had just happened, agreed. "Frodo destroyed the Ring, and he can't come back without the Ring..."  
  
"He's gone, forever," Frodo murmured softly, absentmindedly stroking the stump of the third finger on his right hand.  
  
"Pippin was just talking nonsense...delirious," Sam concluded.  
  
At that moment Dr. Flugedern spoke up. "His fever's rising rapidly. We need to cool him down, quickly, before the fever causes brain damage."  
  
"What must we do?" asked Frodo.  
  
The doctor began barking out orders, and soon a bathtub was brought in and filled with tepid water which Pippin was placed into. After some minutes, it became apparent that this method of cooling Pippin down wasn't working-- in fact, the fever was still rising. Dr. Flugedern decided it was time for more drastic measures, and ordered ice to be brought in.  
  
To everyone's relief, this seemed to cool Pippin down. His fever broke, and for a while his temperature was almost normal. Then, suddenly, Pippin began to sweat again, and his fever rose quickly to dangerous levels.  
  
The doctor was at a loss. "It'll be too dangerous to do another icepack right now, so soon after the first one. The herbs we've given him aren't working, either. I don't know what else to try. We could wait and try another icepack later, but at the rate the fever's rising, I'm not sure he'll make it that long. I've never seen anything like this before--it's most unnatural for a fever to rise like this."  
  
"You're giving up?!?" gasped Merry in horror. "You're quitting? You can't! He'll die!"  
  
"I'm terribly sorry. It's just too risky." Dr. Flugedern bowed his head.  
  
"There's got to be something we can do! We can't just let him die!" Merry cried.  
  
All of a sudden, Sam, who had been sitting next to Pippin's bed contemplating the situation, spoke up. "Maybe there is something we can do! Remember who healed Frodo of the Morgul blade wound?"  
  
"Of course--Elrond! He's a great healer--we can take Pippin to Rivendell!"  
  
"Oh, no!" Dr. Flugedern exclaimed. "He's far too weak to travel. He'll die."  
  
"He'll die anyway if we don't do something," Frodo quietly pointed out.  
  
"We've got to!" Merry insisted. "I won't just let him die!"  
  
The doctor sighed. "I still don't think it's wise...but I've done all I can do here. If you think this Elrond can do more, then I suppose you're welcome to try." He administered one more dose of herbs to Pippin to hopefully allow him to make it to Rivendell, packed up his instruments and took his leave, fearing that Pippin was already doomed.  
  
Frodo, Sam and Merry conferred together, deciding the fastest they could be ready to travel and the quickest route to take to Rivendell. With that, Pippin's friends hurried to prepare for the journey that was their last hope for their dear friend.  
  
Author's Note: Missy and Darcy are characters of my own invention and don't fit into the official Brandybuck family as laid out by Tolkien, as far as I know. Same goes for Dr. Flugedern, except that there was never a Flugedern family as created by Tolkien. 


	6. Evil's Point 6

Evil's Point 6  
  
AN: Here's chapter 6 of Evil's Point! Thank you to my reviewers! Don't forget to review this one!  
  
King Thranduil didn't know what else to do. His son was out gallivanting with his dwarven friend, and while Thranduil knew that Gimli was a decent dwarf—as well as one of the most famous people in Middle Earth—he couldn't help being suspicious of him. Two days had passed since Legolas and Gimli had said they would return. It was so unusual for them not to come back from their trips when they said they would that Thranduil was quite worried. He sighed, and was just about to call one of his scouts to see if any sign of the search party he had sent out to find his son and his friend—or the prince himself—had turned up when an elf came running in.  
  
"Sire! I-I am sorry to disturb you--"  
  
Jumping to his feet, Thranduil waved away the apology impatiently. "What is it, Tindome? Has my son been found?"  
  
"He's just been brought into the halls, sire! But, sire--"  
  
"Then why has he not been brought to me? Bring him here immediately!"  
  
"Sire! He is ill!"  
  
At these words, Thranduil paled. Dropping his ruling staff, he darted up to Tindome. "Take me to him."  
  
Tindome led Thranduil quickly through the halls, ignoring the elves who hastily bowed or curtsied when their king came into sight, and to the rooms of the palace's best healers. At the moment, most of the healers were clustered around a bed upon which a figure could be seen, moaning in pain. Gimli was milling around all of them, talking loudly and agitatedly.  
  
Thranduil brushed past some elves, alerting the others to his presence. The elves all bowed as they noticed their king, but Thranduil didn't pay them any heed. His eyes were only for his son.  
  
"What has happened to him?" he demanded.  
  
"The dwarf says he fell into a river, sire," the chief healer reported. "He's quite ill—feverish, unresponsive..."  
  
Bending over his son, Thranduil took his hand and called to him softly. His son didn't respond. Gently lifting one of the prince's eyelids, Thranduil gazed at his son's eye. What he saw—or rather, what he didn't see—made his blood run cold.  
  
"Ah Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried in Elvish, losing his composure. "His light—it is fading!! Ai, no, by the Valar, he cannot die!" Two of the healers hastened to calm their king while three more placed their hands on the prince, preparing to attempt to heal him with Elvish magic. Regaining his composure, Thranduil barked an order to the healers.  
  
"Do everything in your power to save your prince! I do not care how you go about it—just save him! He cannot die!" Turning to the chief healer, he added, "Elsila, I expect that every resource, every medicine, anything that can help my son, will be used. I want reports on his condition every fifteen minutes if I am not by his side!"  
  
"Yes, milord," the healer replied with a bow. Turning back to the others, he added his power to that of the other healers, and they began a long, hard fight to keep the prince alive.  
  
Five days later, the prince still lived, though his condition remained the same as it had been before. The healers were beginning to lose hope. Nothing they tried had much effect.  
  
Thranduil, exhausted, slumped in a chair by his son's bedside. Gimli sat on the other side of the bed, occasionally touching the elf's hand or feeling for his pulse. Thranduil was attempting to listen to what Elsila was telling him.  
  
"The healers are exhausted, milord. They cannot continue like this. Nothing we have tried is working. I fear—I fear we do not have the talent to heal this."  
  
Thranduil didn't even yell. He closed his eyes and let his head slump onto his chest, feeling grief overwhelm him. He didn't know how long he remained like that—but suddenly, what seemed like their last hope occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of him sooner!  
  
"Elrond!" Thranduil cried, sitting upright. "My son must go to Elrond! If Elrond cannot heal him, no elf can!"  
  
"Of course!" Elsila cried. "Lord Elrond—his healing powers are the greatest of any elf's on Middle-Earth!"  
  
Preperations were quickly made. The swiftest rider in Mirkwood was sent to bring tidings of Legolas' condition to Rivendell, and a party of eleven—five guards, five healers, and Gimli—was arranged and outfitted for the journey. The group set out from Mirkwood within the day.  
  
***********  
  
In the early hours of the morning, four ponies galloped toward Rivendell, not heeding the noise they made at such an early hour. They thundered down the path, through the river, and crossed into the borders of Rivendell.  
  
"Halt!" cried an elvish voice from the trees. "Who are you, that ride so hastily toward the Last Homely House?"  
  
"It's me—Frodo Baggins!" one of the riders called, and he pushed his hood back, confirming he was who he claimed he was. "Samwise Gamgee and Meriadoc Brandybuck ride with me. Our companion Peregrin Took is ill. We wish to see Lord Elrond!"  
  
"Of course, Master Baggins!" the elf replied, and uncovered a lantern he held. Bowing slightly to the hobbits, he mounted his horse and rode ahead to alert the elves of Rivendell. Within five minutes, the hobbits were met by three elves. Two of them took the hobbits' ponies after Frodo, Sam, and Merry had dismounted. The other one gently took Pippin in his arms. "I shall lead you to Lord Elrond," the elf told the hobbits with a bow, and they hurried through the halls, Pippin moaning occasionally from his position in the elf's arms.  
  
The elf ran through a doorway. "Lord Elrond!!"  
  
Annoyed, Elrond looked up, but his face quickly registered alarm as he recognized the four hobbits. "Masters Baggins, Gamgee, and Brandybuck! What is wrong with Master Took?" he demanded, jumping to his feet.  
  
"Lord Elrond, you've got to help Pippin, please—he was bitten by a wolf—he's very ill!" Merry cried, looking pleadingly up at Elrond.  
  
Abandoning his other work, Elrond lifted Pippin from the arms of the elf, and beckoned the hobbits to follow. "Call the healers," Elrond ordered the elf standing there. "They will meet me in the healing room." With that, he swept down the halls and into a bedroom not unlike the one Frodo woke up in upon his first trip to Rivendell. Elrond laid Pippin gently on the bed and began to examine him, frowning gravely at his bitten and green hand. He was silent for so long, assessing Pippin's condition, that Sam spoke up.  
  
"You will be able to help him, Master Elrond?" he asked.  
  
Elrond looked gravely at the three hobbits clustered around their friend's bed. "You arrived just in time, my friends," he said. "If you had come any later, he would have been beyond any help. As things stand now, I believe I can heal him if I act quickly." As he talked, Elrond bustled about the room, gathering herbs, medicines, bandages and water. "Whatever bit him injected a foul poison into the wound, a poison which is draining his life force. It has already circulated around his entire body."  
  
Merry let out a small sob at this.  
  
"No, Merry, do not despair!" Elrond said. "I shall put forth all my strength to draw the poison out. It will be a hard fight, but Pippin is strong. He may pull through yet."  
  
Healers ran into the room just then, and over to Elrond, murmuring in Elvish. Elrond responded in kind, and the healers busied themselves cleaning Pippin's wound and preparing him for the procedure which would hopefully rid him of the poison.  
  
"If you wish food and rest, my friends, Cantaliea"—he nodded to an elf at the door—"shall show you to your quarters. This procedure will be very painful for Peregrin. Perhaps it will be better if you do not watch."  
  
"I can't leave him, Lord Elrond!" Merry exclaimed through tears. "Not now...not when he...he--" Merry let out a sob, and hid his face in his hands. Sam and Frodo both laid a hand on his shoulder, fighting back their own tears.  
  
"As you wish," Elrond said. Chairs were brought in for the three hobbits, and food and wine (which wasn't untouched for long) was brought to them. As they kept their vigil, the elves positioned themselves around Pippin's bed, each laying hands on him. Elrond began a song, and one by one the other healers joined in. The process of healing had begun.  
  
AN: Oooooh, another cliffie! Will Pippin be all right? What about Legolas? Tune in next time to see...on Rivendell Hospital! :::gets hit in the face by a rotten tomato for making such a lame joke::: Don't forget to review!! 


	7. Evil's Point 7

Evil's Point 7  
  
By SIHansonWeasleyGamgee  
  
No, dear readers, I didn't fall off the face of the earth. Finally, I decided to get serious and write another chapter! Thanks so much to my reviewers—you guys are what keeps me writing! And in answer to Lirenel's question, the staff that Thranduil dropped is commonly called a scepter. It's a staff that symbloizes a king's rule. Without further ado, here is Chapter Seven of Evil's Point!! Enjoy!  
  
Á auta, úmëa sangwa  
  
Lá lávalyë ëa sinomë  
  
Súcala i Peratano cuilë  
  
A panta angaina quárella sí!*  
  
So the healers of Rivendell sang over Pippin's bed. Two days had passed since the hobbits had arrived in Rivendell, and Pippin wasn't out of the woods yet. The first process the elves had tried to remove the poison hadn't worked. It still coursed through Pippin's veins, and Elrond wasn't sure how much more the little hobbit could take. So he'd made a cut on Pippin's arm, and with the other Rivendell healers, was performing a new, more difficult—and more dangerous—process to try to get the poison out.  
  
The healers slowed and stopped their song, and Elrond touched a white cloth to the hobbit's bleeding arm. When he took the cloth away, mixed with the red of Pippin's blood was a black substance.  
  
"The poison," Elrond confirmed to the three hobbits who sat in the corner, barely having left Pippin's room at all except to sleep. "This is a start. I shall widen the cut..." He picked up a shining Elven knife from the table as Merry gave a little whimper. Frodo placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. Sam turned away as the knife descended toward Pippin's little arm.  
  
As the blade met its target, Pippin let out an anguished cry. Merry let out a cry in response to this, though his was short and shocked. Frodo's grip tightened on Merry's arm and he paled. Neither hobbit found they could tear their eyes from the horrible scene.  
  
The healers now began to sing with more power. Ever louder and ever faster their voices blended, resonating through the room with such force it made the little hobbits tremble.  
  
A entula i calanna, pityaquén  
  
A mahta i úmëa túrë  
  
A entula i vanimanna, pityaquén  
  
Merammel er...*  
  
The singing went on, for so long the hobbits lost track of time. Every so often, the Elves would use rags to soak up the blood and poison from Pippin's cut, rinse it with clear water, or smooth a poultice into it. All of a sudden, so quickly that Merry started, the singing stopped. Elrond was bending over close to Pippin.  
  
"What's happened?" cried Merry. "What's going on?"  
  
He was quickly shushed by an elf, who murmured, "My lord needs complete silence for this, master holblyta." As the hobbits watched nervously, Elrond's hands started to glow. As he closed his eyes, the glow got brighter and brighter, and seemed to enter Pippin, who began to glow as well. As the hobbits shaded their eyes, the elves began to sing again, more powerfully than they ever had before. Though they didn't know what was going on, Frodo, Merry and Sam could sense that this was what would keep their friend alive.  
  
********  
  
All three hobbits were asleep when Elrond gave his charge one last check and nodded to the elves. He sighed and sank down into a chair by Pippin's bedside as his elves surrounded him, inquiring softly if Pippin—and Elrond—would be all right.  
  
Elrond gave a huge sigh. "I don`t know how, or why, but Pippin's body seems to be fighting against our cures. The poison is gone, but the hobbit is unconscious and incredibly ill. It must be some effect from the demon that bit him, for that beast was no wolf. No wolf could carry that potent a poison and live. And the hobbit bore the poison for days." He shook his head in disbelief. "I do not think he will die, but I am still concerned. He has a long way to go for recovery yet."  
  
"And you, my lord?" an Elf asked.  
  
"I had to give the hobbit some of my life force to keep him alive. It was a small amount. The weakness is a normal side effect from a procedure such as that. I will be fine."  
  
"Still, you should rest, my lord," the Elf insisted. "That was no small healing."  
  
"Oh, you're right," Elrond conceded, standing up. "I want regular reports on Peregrin. If his condition changes, you are to contact me." With a nod to the healers, he turned to go, then stopped. "Oh, and the three hobbits should be taken to their rooms." The elves bowed, and Elrond left the room.  
  
**********  
  
Later, as Frodo, who had awoken, lay in his bed at Rivendell, he heard a soft noise at his door. Squinting, he dimly saw it creak open, and heard a soft, timid voice whisper, "Frodo?"  
  
"Merry?" Frodo whispered back. "Is that you?"  
  
"Y-yes," Merry responded, stepping in and pulling the door shut behind him. A moonbeam fell on him, and Frodo, shocked, took in his trembling hands, his ghost-white skin, his eyes bright as if with tears.  
  
"Whatever is the matter, cousin?" Frodo whispered, sitting up, scooting over and patting the bed next to him. Merry crossed to the bed and sat next to his cousin.  
  
"I..." he murmured, and stopped. "Oh, this is stupid...I feel like such a tweenager..."  
  
"What's wrong?" Frodo prompted softly, laying a hand on Merry's shoulder. "Was it a bad dream?" There was no trace of condesencion in Frodo's voice as he said this, him having experienced enough horrid dreams as an adult to understand what Merry must be going through.  
  
Merry remained silent. "Was it Pippin?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Yes," Merry admitted to both questions at once. "I...oh, Frodo, it was horrible! They—the Elves—their healing...it didn't work, and...Pippin, he..." Here Merry choked, and spat out the next two words with a sob. "He died..."  
  
"Oh, Merry," Frodo murmured, squeezing his cousin's shoulder reassuringly.  
  
"But that's not all," the poor hobbit sobbed. "His spirit, I think that's what it was, went to—Mordor—and then...he led the Dark Lord back, he led him to us, the Fellowship...and Sauron got his revenge..." Merry, overcome, buried his face in his hands, trembling all over with horror and sorrow.  
  
Frodo heard all this grimly. He and Merry both knew, of course, that Sauron was vanquished, never to rise again, but...what if something WAS stirring in Mordor? What if a supporter of the Dark Lord was still around, and was after him and his friends?  
  
Merry let out a huge sob, and Frodo, snapping out of his reverie, felt his heart crack. Scooting over, he wrapped the younger hobbit in a hug, attempting to comfort him. He felt Merry relax into the embrace, and waited for him to cry it out.  
  
After a while, Merry's sobs slowed, and he pulled away from Frodo. Frodo reached for a handkerchief on his bedside table and passed it to Merry, who accepted it gratefully. When Merry felt he could talk again, he murmured, "Thank you, Frodo..."  
  
"It was nothing, cousin," Frodo replied, giving Merry an encouraging smile. "You would've done the same for me."  
  
Merry found himself reluctant to go back to his room, so Frodo, strongly reminded of his days at Brandy Hall, offered Merry a spot in the bed. Once Merry was settled in, he fell asleep almost immediately. Frodo, though, had too much eating at his mind to sleep just then. If it was not just a coincidence...if the Dark Lord was to rise again...He sighed and tried to put the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.  
  
When Frodo finally did get to sleep, his dreams were plagued with visions of a flaming Eye.  
  
*The poem found in my fanfiction was translated into Elvish by Indûr Ambaran of the LOTR Plaza. The Plaza can be found at www.lotrplaza.com. It's a great messageboard for LOTR fans to roleplay, talk and have fun!  
  
Translation of the two verses: Go away, evil poison  
  
You are not allowed to be here  
  
Drinking the Half-Man's life  
  
Open your iron fist now!  
  
Return to the light, little one  
  
Fight the evil might  
  
Return to the 'rightness', little one  
  
We need you still. 


	8. Evil's Point 8

Evil's Point 8  
  
By SIHansonWeasleyGamgee  
  
Finally!! Here's the next chapter of my fanfic. :::glomps each of my reviewers::: Thank you guys sooo much for your continued support of my story!! As I've said before, you're what keeps me writing!! Now, for your enjoyment, Chapter Eight of Evil's Point!!!  
  
It was a quiet, ordinary night in Imladris. The elves on guard sat at their posts, watching the entrance to Rivendell intently. Evil did not enter Rivendell, but since the arrival of Frodo, Sam, Merry, and the ailing Pippin, Elrond had commanded that Rivendell be watched with more vigilance than usual, in case some news of the other Fellowship members arrived.  
  
Suddenly, one of the guard elves sat up. A group was approaching Rivendell, moving slowly as if they were heavily burdened. As they came nearer, the guard elves noticed that the group was composed of elves--from Mirkwood, judging by their dress. They bore among them a litter, as if for a body.  
  
The elves came into a clearing, and the guard, Beregufond, started. A dwarf was among them, and unless he was much mistaken, the dwarf was the notorious Gimli. This in itself did not startle Beregufond. The fact that Prince Legolas, Gimli's greatest friend, was nowhere to be seen, did.  
  
The group advanced now to the borders of Imladris. An elf dressed as a herald stepped forward and blew on a horn. "His Highness, Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood!" he announced.  
  
All four of the guard elves stood up at this and gazed in shock at the litter borne by the elves. There lay Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, seeming to be asleep, face twisted with pain. The four guards gasped.  
  
Gimli now stepped forward. "Elves of Rivendell, we have come seeking the help of Lord Elrond. Legolas is very ill. We must see Elrond immediately!"  
  
Beregufond bowed. "Of course, master dwarf." Deciding to leave the news of Pippin's condition for others to tell, he commanded another guard to take a message to Elrond. The guard ran off, and Beregufond beckoned to the group of Elves and Gimli. "Come," he said. "I shall guide you to Lord Elrond."  
  
Shortly, the elves came to Elrond's quarters. The half-elven lord was bending over Pippin, whose breathing was labored. His hand was bound with many bandages. As the three other hobbits in the room recognized Gimli and Legolas, they all stood up and began talking at once.  
  
"Gimli!"  
  
"What is wrong with Legolas?"  
  
"How can you have gotten our message already?"  
  
"Oh no, not Legolas as well!"  
  
Gimli held up his hand. "Well met indeed, my dear friends!" he said. "But I fear our reunion must wait. Legolas is dreadfully ill. Lord Elrond, we need your assistance."  
  
Elrond, turning from Pippin, surveyed Legolas gravely. "This is indeed grievous," he said. "It would seem whatever malice has infected Pippin has gotten Legolas as well, for I perceive the same aura around both of them. I shall have to set to work immediately, but to what avail, I do not know. I have already been tested sorely with Peregrin. But I shall do my best to help them both."  
  
Elrond came and lifted Legolas from his bier, and the elves gratefully lowered it to the ground. One of Elrond's elves quickly pulled back the covers of a bed next to Pippin's, and Elrond laid Legolas onto it. He bent close to the elf, as if to listen to his breathing, and pulled away quickly, a horrified look on his face.  
  
"What devilry is this?" he exclaimed. "His light is weakening..."  
  
All the elves within earshot of Elrond winced and pressed their hands to their hearts. Grimly, Elrond issued commands to the healer elves. They left the room, walking briskly and seeming a little paler than elves normally are.  
  
"Lord Elrond?" asked Merry. "What does that mean, his light is weakening?"  
  
Elrond sighed and turned to the young hobbit. "It means, Merry, that his inner light—the life force of the elves—is fading. An elf's life force never wanes, unless the elf is sick, wounded or wills himself to die. When an elf's light is fading, it means the elf is dying."  
  
Merry gasped and gazed at Legolas with fear in his eyes. "W—will you be able to help him, Elrond?"  
  
"I do not know," Elrond answered solemnly. "I am drained from working on Pippin...but I must try to save them both. I only hope it is not too late...Healers!"  
  
Many elves, who had been gathering in the hallway, suddenly streamed into the room at Elrond's command. With grave glances at their woodland brother, they gathered around his bed.  
  
"You know what we must do, my healers," Elrond addressed the somber folk. "May the Valar bless our healing and save the light within us all." At this, the elves all bowed their heads. Looking up, determination etched into their faces, they laid their hands onto Legolas. Slowly and softly, they began to sing.  
  
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
  
Silivren penna miriel,  
  
O menel aglar elenath!  
  
Na-chaerad palan-diriel,  
  
O galadhremmon ennonath,  
  
Fanuilos, le linnathon,  
  
Nef aear, si nef aearon!"  
  
The elves now began a slow, rhythmic chanting of sorts, while Elrond's voice rose above the rest.  
  
"Calad edhellen, sí gen eston, uin-nûr e-gûr eledhrim! Lach Eru, ad lacho, caro laug i edhel i nâ ring. O Gilthoniel, lasto iest mîn, anno ammen i gam lîn an edraith an nost mîn. Mîn i reviar thar-´aearon tegir ad i galad anhen."*  
  
The elves all started to glow brightly, so that the hobbits had to avert their eyes. A humming filled the room, a humming of immense energy and light and life. The chanting sped up and grew louder. Now, the room was full of the elves' chanting, seeming to throb with vivacity and spirit. After some time, Elrond's voice again rose above the rest, the voice of a mighty lord invoking help from the gods.  
  
"Eru, the One, Father of us all, we beseech thee! Valar, O you mighty spirits, we beseech thee! Send the Light and the Fire and the Warmth! Caro laug i edhel i nâ ring!"  
  
His words were taken up by all the Elves.  
  
"Caro laug i edhel i nâ ring! Caro laug i edhel i nâ ring! Caro laug i edhel i nâ ring!"***"  
  
It was as if some sort of explosion had taken place in the middle of the room. Every elf in contact with Legolas threw his head back, eyes and mouth wide open. Light—or what seemed to be light—streamed from the sky, through the elves, and into the motionless elf on the bed. The humming reached such a pitch that the hobbits plugged their ears, petrified, praying that it would all stop—  
  
Suddenly, everything did stop. The elves all collapsed forward, landing on Legolas's bed, gasping for breath. Only Elrond remained standing, though he looked absolutely drained, like a mortal who had just run a mile. The hobbits watched, open-mouthed, gazing at Legolas. He remained quite still, though something about him was different. He looked much healthier, and his skin was glowing faintly. The very air above him seemed to shimmer with vitality. No one moved or spoke.  
  
Slowly, Merry unplugged his ears, and asked, "Is...is he all right?"  
  
Elrond reached out a hand, placed it upon Legolas' forehead, and closed his eyes. For several tense moments, he said nothing. The other elves straightened up, looking less winded now, and watched their lord anxiously.  
  
The elven lord slowly raised his head. He gazed absently past the hobbits, at a beautiful tree outside the window. Slowly, Elrond turned his head from side to side, and his lips formed a single word.  
  
"No."  
  
Author's Note: "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!" is a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien, found in The Lord of the Rings, and I claim no authorship of this poem (as if anything I write could be that good!!). It's one hundred percent Tolkien's work.  
  
*"Elven light, I call you now, from the depths of the Eldar's soul! Flame from Eru, burn once more, warm the Elf that lies so cold! O Star-kindler, hear our pleas, help us now to save our kin, we who wander 'cross the sea, return the light of life to him!" (Literal translation: "Elven light, I name you now, from the deep of the elves' inner mind. Flame [of] Eru, flame again, make [him] warm, the elf that is cold. Oh Starkindler, hear our wish[es], give to us your hand for saving our kin. We that wander across-ocean, bring back the light to him.")  
  
*** "Make [him] warm, the elf that is cold! Make [him] warm, the elf that is cold! Make [him] warm, the elf that is cold!"  
  
–Translated by Lothenon of the LOTR Plaza. 


	9. Evil's Point 9

Evil's Point  
  
by SIHansonWeasleyGamgee  
  
It's here, it's here! Chapter nine is finally here!!! A big hug and a box of candy to my wonderful reviewers—I can't say enough how much your feedback means to me. Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
In a small, dark room, a black hand rested on a cement bowl of water. In the water, an image of a beautiful Elven maiden shimmered. She was clad in a nightgown of the finest fabric, pale gold. Her dark hair flowed freely over the linen pillow her head lay on. Her cheeks were fair and rosy, her lips plump and red. One of her arms was wrapped around a man, a tall man, black-bearded and –haired, also dressed in a fine golden sleeping shift. The Tree and the Crown of Gondor were embroidered into the material, and above the tree, seven jeweled stars were set. The Elven maiden slept peacefully.  
  
A soft, hideous laughter echoed in the dark room. "Sleep well, King of Gondor," a voice sneered. "Sleep well, fair queen. Enjoy each other while you can. Bask in your love! Rule your foolish little kingdom! But be careful, little king. For your queen, your other half, your heart, will falter. She will weaken. Wither like a fallen leaf from a mallorn tree. She will fall, and you with her! Because I am coming for her! I am coming to dim the jewel of Gondor!!!"  
  
Evil laughter—a rush of wind—a scream...  
  
"ARWEEEEN, NOOOOOOOOO!"  
  
The King of Gondor sat bolt upright, trembling, sweat dripping down his face. Instantly he felt a hand on his arm, and heard Arwen's voice asking, "My love? What is it?"  
  
Aragorn couldn't stop himself from looking at her, from touching her face, making sure she was still alive and whole. "You live," he breathed.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
But Aragorn was getting out of bed. Pulling on a robe, he strode briskly to the door—and it burst open. There stood Brogil, Aragorn's personal guard, Sardil (Arwen's guard), and three other palace guards. All dropped to their knees. Aragorn impatiently bade them rise with a wave of his hand, and Brogil spoke. "My lord? My lady? What is the..."  
  
Aragorn brushed past the guards, who stared open-mouthed. He shoved open the doors to the throne room. Everything was just as they had left it the night before. He peered around, into every shadow. Nothing was there.  
  
Aragorn sighed and put his head in his hands. The dream had felt so real! A dark shadow, lying in wait...the knife it flung toward his beloved...the look of disbelief on Arwen's face as she looked down at the blade's handle, protruding from her chest...Aragorn ran back to his bedroom and nearly ran into Arwen, who was up with her dressing gown on, just about to see what was happening.  
  
"Aragorn, what happened? Did you see..."  
  
She was silenced by Aragorn's kiss. "It's all right. You are safe," Aragorn breathed into Arwen's ear as he held her for a moment, reassuring himself that she was still there, not harmed. Turning to the guards, Aragorn dismissed them. "Everything's all right. Go back to your posts." Bowing, the guards obeyed their king.  
  
"What happened, my love?"Arwen inquired again as Aragorn crossed the room and sat down on the bed.  
  
"A dream," he said simply. Arwen, hands on her husband's shoulders, massaged his neck with her thumbs, and Aragorn sighed, tilting his head back.  
  
"Will you tell me about it, darling?" Arwen asked.  
  
Aragorn hesitated, unwilling to scare Arwen. After a minute's careful thought, he replied, "Someone dear to me was hurt."  
  
"I'm sorry, my love," Arwen murmured, kissing the king's neck. "Remember, it was only a dream."  
  
"Yes, darling," Aragorn agreed. "Come, let us sleep some more. There are still several hours until daylight." With a goodnight kiss, Aragorn and his beloved settled down to sleep.  
  
The next day as Aragorn and Arwen went over state business in the throne room, an Elf burst through the doors, a scroll clutched in his hand. He bowed low and announced, "Urgent message from Rivendell, sire!" He held out the scroll. A guard came forward and took it, handing it to the king with a bow.  
  
"I thank you, Elsila," Aragorn said, recognizing the elf from Elrond's household. "Will you stay a while in one of the elven-houses?"  
  
"I'm afraid I must decline," said Elsila with a bow. "I am needed in Rivendell...as you will see in the message."  
  
"As you will," Aragorn nodded, beginning to read the letter. "Confidential to the King and Queen of Gondor," he read. With bows, the guards all left the room. Elsila, as the messenger, was allowed to stay while the message was read.  
  
"My lord Aragorn and my lady Arwen, High King and Queen of Gondor..." Aragorn continued to read. "I am writing to you on a matter of the utmost importance. A friend's life is in grave danger." Here Aragorn looked at Arwen, who, frowning, nodded slightly, bidding him to read on. Aragorn continued:  
  
"Three nights ago, on the eve of the new moon, the hobbits Frodo, Merry and Sam arrived. With them, and dreadfully ill, was Pippin. He had been bitten by a creature in the form of a wolf, but which injected into Pippin's wound a poison so lethal, no true wolf could have borne it and lived. My best healing efforts drew the poison out, but left Pippin very close to death. I have not told the other halflings this. I have decided a channelling healing will be the best way to save Pippin's life."  
  
Aragorn paused. A channelling healing occurred when an Elven healer poured most or all of his power into another healer, usually an Elf (though mortals could do it too.) The combined powers of the two healers were much stronger than the separate healing powers of each could ever be. However, the process was immensely dangerous. If something went wrong, both healers could lose their powers.  
  
Reading on, Aragorn found the words he knew he'd find.  
  
"I want you to be my channel, Estel."  
  
Looking up, Aragorn found Arwen gazing at him, her mouth slightly open. "It's incredibly dangerous," Aragorn mumbled. "Elrond hasn't done a channelling healing in a long time..."  
  
"Over a thousand human years," Arwen clarified.  
  
"But...Pippin ill..."  
  
"Is there any more in the message?" Arwen asked.  
  
"He sends you and I his love, and prays that the Valar bless our love, our reign and our country," Aragorn read. Laying the scroll down on the table, Aragorn turned to his love. "I am conflicted..." he said. "My head tells me my people need me, but my heart bids me go to Rivendell and save my friend's life.."  
  
Arwen laid her hand on his arm. "There are others who could rule the Kingdom of Gondor in your absence, my lord. Pippin needs you. Ada needs you. Go, vanimelda."  
  
"My love..." Aragorn pulled Arwen in for a passionate, longing kiss. "There's nothing I would rather do than stay at your side," he murmured into Arwen's ear. "But you're right. Elrond is right. I must go—and at once! Will you rule the people in my absence, my beloved?"  
  
"I would be..." Arwen started to say, but she was interrupted as the throne room doors burst open. There stood Faramir, a grave expression on his face and a scroll in his hand.  
  
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed with a grin, rising to greet his friend. "We weren't expecting you for a few days."  
  
"My lord Aragorn," Faramir bowed, "I have an urgent message!" He held out an envelope. "I was met on the outskirts of the city by an Elf in Mirkwood gear, who bade me deliver this to you at once."  
  
"I think I shall very soon tire of hearing that..." Aragorn mumbled. "I thank you, Faramir," he said in a normal voice as he took the envelope from Faramir. Tearing open the envelope, Aragorn read the letter—and went white.  
  
"Aragorn?" Arwen asked, alarmed. Faramir, also surprised, took a step forward. "My lord?"  
  
When Aragorn looked up, in his eyes was an emotion few had ever seen there before: fear. Wordlessly he held the letter out so Arwen and Faramir could read it. Faramir read aloud:  
  
"YOU THINK YOU OWN YOUR KINGDOM NOW THAT SAURON'S MET HIS END,  
  
BUT THE GATHERING CONTINUES, AND DEATH TO YOU I SEND.  
  
YOUR EYES SHALL BRIM WITH PAIN AND GRIEF, FOR YOUR FAIR QUEEN'S DAYS GROW SLIM;  
  
AND GONDOR SHALL BE CONQUERED WHEN ITS BRIGHTEST JEWEL IS DIMMED."  
  
The four in the room looked at each other in shock, disbelief, and fear. But before anyone could say anything else, there was a sudden splintering crash, and a whoosh of something flying through the air. Faramir and Elsila cried out and dove toward Arwen...but too late.  
  
A sickening thwack resounded through the room. Arwen let out a single, sharp scream, her eyes, locked on Aragorn's, full of shock, pain, and sorrow.  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Aragorn cried, darting forward and catching Arwen as her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed into the king's arms.  
  
In the queen's back was a black feathered arrow.  
  
::::hides from tomato-throwing readers::: I know! I know! ANOTHER cliffie! I just can't help it--they're soo much fun to write!! I promise you'll find out what's wrong with Legolas and if Arwen is all right and poor Pippin....all in good time! :::evil laughter::: Hope you enjoyed!!! 


	10. Evil's Point 10

Evil's Point  
  
by SIHansonWeasleyGamgee  
  
Greetings, my readers! Here is the next chapter of my story. I thank you all for your continued support of my tale. Your comments and reviews mean the world to me! Now, enjoy chapter ten of Evil's Point!  
  
It was a very somber group of reunited friends that sat in a semicircle between the beds of their stricken comrades. The healers had left Legolas and Pippin in an enchanted sleep, hoping to allow their worn-out bodies to get some much-needed rest, while they conferred with Elrond in his chambers. Pippin and Legolas slept peacefully, but not entirely free from the poison that wracked them. Sweat glistened on their faces, which were drawn in pain and pale, and they murmured quietly.  
  
Merry perched on a chair next to his cousin's bed, one thumb rubbing the knuckles of the sweaty hand he clenched in his own, every so often wiping a cool, damp cloth over Pip's sweaty brow. His eyes had a haunted, almost- despairing look to them that made it hard for the others to look at him. It had been a week and a half since the hobbits had arrived in Rivendell, and Pippin was not getting better. Countless thoughts ran through Merry's mind—memories of Pippin, of vegetables pulled from Farmer Maggot's black dirt, of parading around together in bright mail-shirts after coming back from the War of the Ring, of hiding together in Brandy Hall to get out of doing chores. However, one thought echoed in Merry's head more than all the others, hovering there like a carrion bird over an animal about to die, just on the brink of fixing itself permanently into his mind and driving away all hope forever. What will I do if we've lost Pippin?  
  
In complete contrast to Merry, and Frodo and Sam who sat leaning against each other staring into space, was Gimli. He hovered over Legolas's and Pippin's beds like a mother dragon over her eggs. In addition, he kept up a constant nervous conversation with the air. If only he could have caught Legolas or gotten him to help sooner, he'd moan as he rested a hand on the elf's hot brow or anxiously scrutinized him for any sign that he might wake up. Surely Pippin had to wake up soon, for he was a hobbit, and if Gimli knew anything about hobbits it was that no hobbit could go so long without having a meal, he'd sigh, holding Pip's small hand. Though the others felt that Gimli's constant chatter and motion might well drive them mad, no one asked the dwarf to be quiet. They knew that this was Gimli's way of dealing with his fear and grief.  
  
The four watchers found themselves wondering what was going on in their companions' minds as they tossed and moaned in their raging fevers. Legolas writhed about, sometimes crying out, at times babbling wildly, looking into space with unseeing eyes. Pippin did not talk in his fever, though he sometimes thrashed about violently, so that some Elves had to come and hold him down, placing a cloth in his mouth so he wouldn't bite his tongue, until the fit passed. Both Legolas and Pippin were plagued with horrible nightmares, unceasing images of fear and despair that they didn't seem to be able to wake up from. They knew that what they were dreaming wasn't real, but they couldn't do anything to stop their nightmares. They were forced to watch some of the worst times of their lives over and over again.  
  
Suddenly, Frodo felt himself being watched. Looking up, he saw that there were two Elves of Elrond's household standing in the doorway, watching Frodo, Merry, Sam and Gimli with sympathy. As the others noticed the Elves, they bowed, and one announced, "Lord Gimli and most esteemed hobbits, my lord Elrond wishes you to confer with him immediately in his chambers."  
  
"What for? Has—has he found out how to cure Pippin and Legolas?" asked Merry, new hope springing to life in his heart. The others stood up, not daring to believe it, but—  
  
"I am sorry, Master Merry, but I do not know," said the Elf. "Please come with me, and then you will learn."  
  
"I can't leave Pippin!" Merry protested, with an anxious glance at his fevered cousin. "What if something happens?"  
  
"My companion here will stay and watch the ill ones," said the Elf. "Be assured that if anything happens to either of them, you will be the first to know."  
  
"Come on, Merry," Frodo said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Lord Elrond needs us. Pippin and Legolas will be all right for a while without us."  
  
"A-all right," Merry agreed. He turned back to Pippin's bedside and leaned over, murmuring into his ear and caressing his hand. Finally, he straightened and came to stand beside Sam and Frodo. "Let's go."  
  
The Elf led Frodo, Sam, Merry and Gimli briskly through the halls of Rivendell. Eventually, they came to a door that was standing open. Lord Elrond was inside, seated at a table, poring over an old and wrinkled piece of parchment.  
  
"My lord Elrond, I have brought them, as you commanded," their guide announced with a bow. Elrond looked up. It struck Frodo that Elrond looked very tired—there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was grim.  
  
"Thank you, Cantaliea," said Elrond. "You may leave us now."  
  
"Yes, my lord," Cantaliea said, and turning, he left, closing the door behind him.  
  
"My friends," Elrond now said to Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Gimli, "I have some news to share with you."  
  
"You've found out how to make Pip well!!" Merry cried in joy. When Elrond shook his head, Merry's face fell, and he sagged against Frodo's shoulders. Frodo helped Merry to sit down as Elrond explained.  
  
"No, Merry, I have not. However, there is now new hope. I sent a message to Aragorn shortly after you arrived, seeking his assistance in healing Pippin (and now Legolas). I have just received his answer. He would have set out from Rivendell almost five days ago."  
  
"Aragorn!" exclaimed Frodo, as all their eyes lit up at the thought of seeing their old friend again. "He's coming?"  
  
"When will he get here?" asked Sam.  
  
"Can he help them?" demanded Gimli.  
  
"He should arrive in a few weeks," Elrond said, raising a hand for silence. "And, as I was about to say, Aragorn agrees to participate in a channelling healing with me. This is where two healers combine their power to heal someone who is very ill. It is a dangerous procedure, but I believe that by using it, we might be able to cure Pippin and Legolas."  
  
"You mean it? There might be a way?!?" Merry said happily.  
  
"Yes, I do," smiled Elrond. "With hope, our friends will soon be well again."  
  
After waiting for the hobbits' and Gimli's exclamations of joy to die away again, Elrond's face grew somber. "I have other news to share with you," he said. "Please, sit down. This may take a while." As Sam, Frodo, and Gimli found seats, Elrond began:  
  
"A few nights ago, I was in the library of Rivendell, searching through some ancient documents for something that might inform me of a way to help Pippin and Legolas. Instead, I found this." Elrond indicated the parchment in front of him. "This, friends, is a copy of a very ancient prophecy made by an Elven scholar in the First Age. There are only a few copies of this in the world, and even fewer know of its existence. I myself had forgotten it, for it has been thrice a hundred years of Men since I saw it last. It goes like this:  
  
When two fall of the Brothers Once Nine,  
  
When stricken is she, the King's joy and pride,  
  
The Savior returns to the place on high,  
  
But what he seeks, he shall never find.  
  
Once again he'll save the world,  
  
But from the Light he shall be hurled.  
  
The Seed shall sprout, the Dark shall grow,  
  
Beyond the End the Savior will go.  
  
The Great will return to the forsaken,  
  
And the Dark will yield what it has taken.  
  
When the earth has changed and the skies are rent,  
  
Then Evil for all time will end."  
  
Elrond fell silent and looked up at the friends. Frodo was the first to speak. "What does it mean, Lord Elrond? The first part of it...does it refer to...to us?"  
  
"You have a shrewd mind, Frodo," Elrond said softly. "Yes, I do think the part about the 'Brothers Once Nine' refers to the Fellowship of the Ring."  
  
"What about 'the King's joy and pride?'" asked Gimli.  
  
"That could refer to many things. I believe 'the King' in the prophecy is Aragorn. 'She' could mean Gondor...or it could mean the Queen herself."  
  
"Arwen," murmured Frodo.  
  
"Yes," said Elrond sadly. "As for the rest of it, it is largely a mystery. However, I interpret the prophecy thus: evil is stirring again. I believe that there is a new power rising, a new evil power."  
  
There was a long period of silence, as the hobbits' faces whitened and Gimli stared with wide eyes at the Elven lord. Finally, Merry spoke.  
  
"And 'the Savior'? Can it possibly be talking about--"  
  
"It's talking about me," said Frodo softly, in a haunted-sounding voice. Sam looked at his master with concern, noticing that he was shivering slightly. Also, to Sam's disquiet, he saw that Frodo was stroking the place on his hand where his ring finger had been; the finger that had borne the Ring that awful day in Mordor, that was sacrificed to Gollum, ending Sauron's realm. "It must be. I saved Middle-Earth...before..."  
  
Elrond looked at Frodo with pity and worry in his gaze. "That is what I fear," he said. "I fear, Frodo, most renowned of hobbits, that you must again save Middle-Earth. I fear that the prophecy means that you must find the new evil and defeat it. And to do this, I fear that you shall have to go back to--"  
  
"Begging your pardon, but you can't mean that, Mr. Elrond, sir!" cried Sam, indignant, springing from his chair. "Surely you can't mean that Mr. Frodo has to..." His voice quieted. "Has to go back to...Mordor?"  
  
"I--"  
  
"How can you even think that, Elrond?!?" Sam cried angrily. "How can you even suggest that Frodo might have to go back to that horrible place? He can't! Hasn't he earned some peace and quiet yet?"  
  
"If evil has returned to Middle-Earth indeed, Sam, then few of us shall have peace and quiet, even the great ones such as Frodo," said Elrond quietly. "Do not despair yet.. But two have fallen of the Brothers Once Nine." Elrond sighed. "I fear that whatever the prophecy tells that you, or others, must do, must be done soon."  
  
Four anxious faces stared at him in silence. As if we didn't have enough to worry about, thought Merry. Another quest? How can we do this?  
  
Merry's and the others' musings were suddenly interrupted when Cantaliea reappeared in the doorway. "Lord Elrond!" he exclaimed, bowing again. "I was sent by the Rivendell guards to tell you that you have another visitor!"  
  
Elrond immediately stood up again. "A visitor? Can it be that Aragorn has arrived so soon?"  
  
Cantaliea shook his head. "Nay, my lord! It is the White Wizard!"  
  
"It can't be...?" cried Gimli increduously.  
  
"It is!" Frodo sprang up, ran to the door, and peered down the hall, where the figure of an old man, clothed in white robes and carrying a long white staff, strode briskly down the hallway. "It's Gandalf!"  
  
Again, thank you all for reading Evil's Point! And, since I take forever to update my story, I'm going to start an E-mailing informing people of new chapters. If you'd like to be E-mailed when I put up the next chapter of my story, say so in your review, and add your E-mail address! 


	11. BRAND NEWEvil's Point 11

Evil's Point  
  
Chapter 11  
  
A King's Resolve  
  
Yay—a new chappy! Hope you enjoy!  
  
Evening was falling over Hollin. Animals tucked themselves into nooks and crannies, a few stars peeped out of the deep violet sky, and the sun hid her last rays of light behind the Misty Mountains. The land was hushed, awaiting the embrace of night to enfold her. And in the midst of Hollin, a king clutched the hand of an Elven woman, keeping a sad, solemn vigil.  
  
King Aragorn had left Gondor ten days ago with a small company of his guards and Arwen, who was badly ailing from the night a week ago when an ambush had left her with an arrow-wound and a deep slumber that no one could wake her from. They were heading to Rivendell, for Elrond had sent a message that Pippin was hurt and in need of Aragorn's healing abilities. The company had set camp for the night, and Aragorn had insisted on being left alone in a tent with his beloved. Two guards stood silently outside.  
  
"My love," Aragorn murmured sadly into Arwen's ear. Arwen turned toward the voice of her husband. "Please, vanimelda nin," said Aragorn. "Toro dan nan galad! Do not leave me here alone! I need you, my heart—oh, how I need you!" Aragorn's voice choked in his throat as the tears glimmered in his eyes. "Please..." he breathed, laying his head gently on Arwen's chest and closing his eyes. Shortly, the rhythm of the Lady's breathing and the gentle beating of her heart lulled the distraught King into slumber.  
  
************  
  
"Lord of Gondor..."  
  
Aragorn slowly opened his eyes. He blinked once, then twice. Then, he gasped. He was upon the narrow stone span that crossed the river of Rivendell, the bridge where Arwen had given him the Evenstar. In front of him stood a maiden that so closely resembled Arwen that for a moment, Aragorn was transported back to that night when Arwen had proven her wish to become mortal. But, as he looked into "Arwen's" eyes, he recoiled in horror. Her eyes were pure white.  
  
As Aragorn backed away in fear and suspicion, the one on the bridge raised her hand. "Nay, Aragorn, do not fear. I will do no harm to you."  
  
"A—Arwen?" Aragorn breathed uncertainly.  
  
"Nay, lord of Men. I am not she. I am she whom the Elves name Queen of the Stars."  
  
Aragorn's mouth fell open. "By Valar," he breathed. "Elbereth!" Aragorn dropped to his knees and bowed his head before the Valie in humble respect.  
  
The Star-queen's eyes shone like the stars she kindled in the sky. Light surrounded her, spilled from her body. No--she was light. And now she spoke again; her voice echoed as if it was coming across all the eons of time since the World began.  
  
"Yes. I have come, Elessar, to tell you—you are needed. The One who defeated the Evil has need of you. His kin is wounded, like your beloved. You must be his guide once more. For Evil is growing again in Middle- Earth. Evil will win this time, if you do not do this. If you do not do this, your love will be lost, as will two others you love. There is still hope. You can still save her. You must help the One to stop this. You must help the One..."  
  
Her voice was growing fainter. Aragorn looked up. "What must I do, Oh Great Valie? How must I help the One?"  
  
But she was gone...  
  
**********  
  
Finally, they had made it!  
  
Aragorn stood gazing down upon the fair valley where he had grown up. He nearly smiled as the beauty of Rivendell hit him again; oh, it was a valley of light...His smile faded as he turned to the bier of his love, which was borne by two guards. He leaned over and gently touched her cheek. "Hold on, vanimelda," he breathed in her ear. "You're home now. I'm going to save you now. I shan't leave you...I promise. And a King never breaks his promises."  
  
With a nod and a command, the King's company made their way into Rivendell.  
  
**********  
  
Elrond stared at the face of his daughter, his hands gently cradling her cheek. His face held its usual stern expression, but inside, the Elven Lord was screaming. By Valar, this evil will not take Arwen! With a sigh, Elrond glanced up at the King of Men.  
  
"Yes. The evil got to her as well."  
  
Gandalf sighed. "Then must we wait any longer, Lord Elrond? It seems the Fellowship is to re-form. The prophecy was clear: Frodo must save the world again, and we'll be with him every step of the way. We must set out soon if we are to have any hope of saving these people. Let preparations begin for this journey. At best we cannot hope to set out until a week has passed and supplies are gathered."  
  
"Who shall go on this journey, besides Frodo?" Merry piped up.  
  
"You're not leaving us behind," stated Sam. Merry nodded.  
  
"Indeed, we would not dream of it," said Gandalf. "I too shall go with you, for you will have need of me ere the end."  
  
Elrond glanced expectantly at Aragorn. The Man, busy checking Legolas' pulse, said nothing.  
  
"Very well," Elrond acquiesed, after a few moments' pause. "Send the servants to the store-rooms to prepare for a long journey." At his word, several Elves slipped out of the sickroom and hastened down the hall. Gandalf turned and followed the Elves.  
  
Aragorn turned to Elrond from where he had been bending over Legolas. "I do not know how to further your diagnosis or treatment, Elrond," he said. "I do not think they will die—yet."  
  
Elrond looked gravely on his foster son. "You're troubled, Estel."  
  
"Of course I'm troubled!" Aragorn burst. "Why would I not be troubled? My wife is lying there, ill, perhaps unto death, and what can I do? Stand and look at her! I don't want to leave her...I don't want to lose her," murmured Aragorn, gently smoothing a stray lock of hair off Arwen's forehead. Elrond sat in a chair by his daughter's bedside and sat staring somberly at her.  
  
"When I saw Gandalf," Aragorn began softly, "I was certain he had the answer. I was so sure he'd know how to save them..."  
  
"As were the hobbits," commented Elrond, with a glance at Frodo, Merry and Sam, who now sat around Pippin's bed, talking softly with each other. "And Gimli."  
  
"What am I to do?" Aragorn whispered, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "Arwen needs me. My people need me. I cannot leave Gondor bereft of her King and her Queen for long. Yet..." Aragorn looked up from Arwen's face into Elrond's eyes. "Elrond...I had a vision last night."  
  
"A vision." Elrond's eyebrows went up, and he waited for the King to continue. Slowly, Aragorn told his foster father of Varda's visit and what she had told him.  
  
"I see. And you are wondering whether you should go with Frodo when your wife is ill and you have a country to lead." stated Elrond.  
  
Aragorn nodded.  
  
"I cannot offer you much advice, Lord Aragorn," stated Elrond plainly. "You are a King. You must make your own decisions. I will offer this: I fear that if you stay behind, Frodo will fail."  
  
"He didn't need me last time," Aragorn muttered. "He completed his mission sufficiently without my aid."  
  
"You know that's not true," said Elrond. "Without your valor, the Ringbearer would not have completed his mission. And that was different. Then, you set out to lose and destroy; now, you set out to find, and to heal."  
  
"How can I leave her?" Aragorn whispered plaintively. "I promised her I wouldn't leave. She needs me, too..."  
  
"I, too, feel the pull of my heart," stated Elrond. "But these ill ones need a cure, not grieving friends and relations sitting by them at all hours of the day. Gondor will be fine without you. Most likely you will not be gone for long." Elrond reached across the bed and placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "You've proven your worthiness a thousand times over," he stated. "Show it again. This mission needs you. It is the only way to save them...the only way to save her."  
  
Aragorn sat there silent for a time, clutching the hand of Arwen. As he sat, it seemed that a strength grew within him as his resolve hardened. Now he looked up, stern gray eyes meeting ageless brown ones.  
  
"If this is the only way to save my beloved, then I will do it. I will go with Frodo." 


End file.
